


No Matter What Happens

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: And love, F/M, pure angst and heartbreak, so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 10:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14470893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Leave him to save him/Timeline roughly 9:40, post-Kirkwall, pre-Conclave





	No Matter What Happens

“What do you miss most?” he asks, surprising her yet again. After ten years it shouldn’t, that he can read her mind as sure as if she was passing him notes.

She holds her hand out and waits for him to take it, for him to sit down behind her on the balcony and wrap himself around her. She wants to ask his secret magic but she doesn’t have to. She knows how he does it: he watches her face and remembers every time he’s seen a particular expression. He doesn't always hit the bullseye but he’s never missed by more than a whisper. When it comes to her his aim is true.

“When we had to get somewhere fast, just you and I, the way you’d tuck me up in front of you on the horse and we’d fly. The way the air felt on my face and your chest felt at my back. Safety and adventure all rolled up into one.”

He holds her close, the feel of his body behind her still the same. They were lucky, she knows that and so does he. Ridiculously young and tasked with nothing less than saving the whole of Thedas by themselves, they never wore the strain more than they had to because they had each other. From the first time they stood shoulder to shoulder they were a perfect unit, each one’s strengths the exact match to what the other needed.

It was a courtship now passed down in story books as well as history books, how the Handsome Prince and the Beautiful Hero spent a year traveling the country and falling in love while they gathered an army to save the world. No one who saw them together ever doubted their love and devotion.

The years haven’t changed that either. She waits for the knife pain in her heart but it doesn’t come until she hears him sigh.

“I want to ask why there is such despair in your eyes but I can’t make myself do it. The chance of it being something other than what I fear isn’t high enough to risk the blow of having to hear it stated.”

She bites back the sob but he feels it anyways. His arms tighten and she can feel his tears on her shoulder, hot little rivers that might as well be blood. He is wounded as only she can make him.

“When are you leaving?” His voice is so soft she knows she can pretend she didn’t hear it. She can’t be so cruel as to make him repeat it.

“Sooner the better. Before I decide not to listen. I’m getting tired of it. But this one is important.”

“It always is.” She doesn’t know what she hears more, resignation or accusation.“What do you have to do that’s so important as to leave my side?” Anger, then. At her? Surely, for being strong enough to listen to some voice in her head no matter how much it hurt to do so. She knows it will pass, just as hers will. Eventually.

“Save your life, my heart. And your throne.”

She feels him tense and does the same, waiting. The air hangs thickly charged, but only for a moment before he pistons his leg out to kick a stone table across the balcony. It flies fast and true, his strong thigh turning it into a heavy, blunt projectile. When it crashes into a set of potted plants he sighs heavily and tucks his leg around her again. He doesn’t say anything and it doesn’t take long to understand he won’t. Part of it is knowing the details truly don’t matter. She knows a bigger part is he can’t speak yet, his anger and heartbreak won’t let him.

“There has to be a cure. Has to. I won’t let you die like that, Alistair, I simply refuse. We saved the fucking world, it owes us a better death.”

He slumps behind her but just for a moment, she no sooner registers the movement before he’s straightening up again. She waits for him to ask about the second part. It doesn’t take as long to figure it out this time, that he won’t, but she knows it’s not precisely the same reason.

It’s always been her sorest spot, how the world thinks her strength is his weakness. He’s never made an effort to hide it when he steps back to give her all the room she needs to lead. Everyone thinks he does it because he is weak. Few take time to understand the truth: he does it because he wants nothing more than to sit back and watch her do it. She is his delight, in all things, and there is nothing about her he doesn’t treasure and celebrate as much as she will allow.

The years have only stacked that assumption and far too many people believe she is the real leader of the country. They won’t accept their partnership is fully equal. Someone must hold the power and no one will ever believe it is him rather than her, not as long as they rule side by side.

“Can I at least get a time frame?” He tries to make it a lighthearted request and completely fails. She loves him all the more for trying.

“A few years, at least. I can’t imagine solving such a thing any quicker. Nor can I imagine it taking less time to set Ferelden’s ignorant bastards straight.” She stops and tries to come up with something better. It works as much as his attempt at levity. “Honestly, I won’t be surprised if curing the taint takes less time than securing your throne with these mud-headed motherfuckers.”

He laughs loudly, with so much joy her heart lifts and sings, the way it always has for him. When he lays back on the stone floor she lets him pull her with him. _Anything for you_ she thinks. _Anything for my King_.

 

~*~

 

“You’ve not packed anything for Sugar.” It isn’t a question.

“No. He’s staying with you.”

“I don’t like that much.”

“Neither does he but I’ll not chance it. He’s getting too old. I’ll not have him fall in some place or some way that I can’t do right by him.”

She tries to think what it will be like, traveling without her heart or the closest thing she’s ever had to a child of her own. All she can think is _I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough any more._ She wishes it was true.

“Take Anders with you.” That isn’t a question either, or a suggestion.

“Right, because no one is going to spread tales about the Queen of Ferelden leaving her King to run around Thedas with the possessed mage who blew up Kirkwall.” She has to laugh at that, a humorless snort strong enough to burn her nose. “Maker’s breath, can you imagine? The Chantry would shit itself at such a boon to use against you.”

“I trust you two can be more discrete than that.” He closes the space to brush his fingers across her cheek. “I need to know you’re safe. That someone is at your side.”

 _You will be_ she wants to say but she knows that isn’t enough. She’s had too many health problems, too many miscarriages, for it to be anywhere near enough. He wants someone with her in case she falls. Someone who can do right by her. Bring her back so he can.

She relents as much as she can. “I do plan to make them one of my first stops but he’s likely not going to want to leave Hawke any more than I want to leave you. I won’t make him.” She wants to add it isn’t his concern but that’s only half true. The throne isn’t. Until they find out otherwise she can only assume the taint still is.

“Sigrun, then. Anyone.” He’s starting to get frustrated and she can’t help but let it affect her.

 _Order me to stay_ she wants to beg him. She bites her tongue hard, hoping the pain will clear her head. He won’t do that and she can’t ask him to. He knows her cause is true. Necessary, even. He doesn’t want that ending any more than she does. Nor do they want one where all their hard work is for nothing because he can’t produce an heir.

She closes her eyes, trying to memorize the feel of his fingers on her skin. _Leave him to save him_ she thinks, surprised to find it actually helps. Not much, she’s still paralyzed from the pain, but it’s enough to hold on to.

“You will write me. Daily.” His voice is soft but she knows he is giving her a very direct, non-negotiable command.

“Yes, my King.” She thinks to kneel but stops herself when she realizes he will simply kneel with her. She opens her eyes, needing to watch him flex his power. She can count the times on one hand he’s ever done it with her.

“You will let me know where you’re heading, always, that I might see you if duty puts me near.”

“Yes, my King.” She can’t take her eyes off him, mesmerized by what she’s seeing. He may as well be growing a crown from his head, as he strokes her cheek and hold her gaze he is changing, becoming the King he needs to be to rule without her. To live without her.

“You will come back.”

She wants to look down, wants to verify nether of them are actually bleeding out on the floor. She can’t, won’t. She won’t drop her eyes, she won’t flinch, she won’t hesitate.

“Yes, my King.”

One more soft brush and he’s gone, before she can even speak. She wants to be hurt until it dawns on her: he is merely taking the blow for her this time. He’s walking away from her so she doesn’t have to walk away from him. All she has to do is pick up her bag and leave the castle. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to already know how to do this.

 _Leave him to save him_ and it still isn’t much but it’s enough to get her feet moving.

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Phil Collins - Against all Odds


End file.
